


M. Potier’s Duels and Errands

by malfoyfamilycrest (Kate_Marley)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Muggle, French and Italian names used, Late Night Conversations, M/M, Minor Injuries, Minor Violence, Neville is D'Artagnan, Pre-Slash, Swordfighting, The Three Musketeers AU, fictionalised version of history, just like the original story by Alexandre Dumas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-05
Updated: 2019-03-05
Packaged: 2019-11-12 12:28:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18010904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kate_Marley/pseuds/malfoyfamilycrest
Summary: France, 1631: Henri de Potier is a Musketeer of the Guard; his former school rival Drago Malcredi is a musketeer of Cardinal Richelieu’s personal guard. During a fencing bout between the King’s Musketeers and the Cardinal’s Guard, Henri and Drago face each other for their first formal duel. It turns out not to be their only meeting that day.“Scared?” muttered Malcredi so that Bérard couldn’t hear him.“You wish,” said Henri out of the corner of his mouth.





	M. Potier’s Duels and Errands

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sorb_aucup](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sorb_aucup/gifts).



> **About the setting of my _Londubat and the Three Musketeers_ AU:**
> 
> Henri de Potier and his friends Reynault de Beletton and Armand-Jean de Grangier (actually Armandine Jeanne, a woman disguised as a man) are Musketeers of the Guard. They have recently taken Neville Londubat under their wing who came to Paris from the countryside in order to become one of them.
> 
> Henri has a long-standing rivalry with Drago Malcredi, a musketeer of Cardinal Richelieu’s personal guard who went to the same prestigious secondary school as him, the Lycée Poudlard. Drago is the son of Italian spies who were involved in a conspiracy against the cardinal and who switched loyalties at the last possible moment before it was uncovered. After that, Drago became a member of Richelieu’s Guard in order to make up for the shady actions of his parents. Richelieu trusts him, but Drago is aware everyone else will always eye him with suspicion – especially Henri who played a key role in uncovering the conspiracy.
> 
>  **Note:** The Musketeers of the Guard of King Louis XIII of France commonly called themselves “Musketeers” whereas the musketeers of Cardinal Richelieu’s personal guard referred to themselves as the “Guard”.
> 
> Thank you so much to [Ineharnia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ineharnia) for betaing! ❤︎

Hercule-Louis de Bérard de Montalet Vestric was pacing up and down in front of the best of his musketeers, scanning their uniforms for specks and rumpled parts. Satisfied with the results of his inspection, he stopped in front of them for an encouraging speech.

“Musketeers of the Guard!” he addressed them. “You have been selected for today’s duelling competition against Cardinal Richelieu’s personal guard.”

“You don’t say,” mumbled Reynault so quietly only Henri and Armandine could hear him.

“I must admit that at times he has quite the habit of repeating bits of information everyone knows anyway,” Armandine whispered back. Her voice sounded higher when she spoke quietly, more like that of a woman.

“I trust you not to put the Musketeers to shame today,” Bérard continued his speech. “You are all apt warriors, perhaps the best of this whole country. But please also keep in mind that today’s fencing bout is drill and competition to equal parts. Our aim is not to decimate the Guard right after the King has granted the Cardinal commission to raise its numbers.”

Some sneers could be heard. Armandine frowned.

“You are going to keep your calm, right, Henri?” She gave him an appraising look. “Even if you happen to fight against...”

“Of course I will, Armand!” he said out loud, cutting her off. Henri wasn’t sure if he really could, but he hoped so.

“That came too fast!” Armandine glowered at him. “Please Henri, you really need to. I know he’s insufferable, but...”

“Shhh,” made Reynault. “Bérard’s going to hear you.”

Armandine instantly fell silent and assumed her most flawless military posture. She didn’t want to get negative attention if her commander caught her chatting when she should be listening to him. Reynault knew that only too well. He wasn’t only her and Henri’s best friend; Armandine and him had also moved in with each other after graduating from Lycée Poudlard, the prestigious secondary school they had attended. Now they were secretly living as a couple. Finding a landlord willing to accommodate them both had been remarkably effortless in Armandine’s male disguise.

Henri was a little jealous of his best friends. Sometimes he missed the dorm he had shared with them back at school. Living in his own quarters was lonely at times and his elderly, perpetually ill-humoured servant Ramper wasn’t exactly the uplifting kind of company he would have wished for.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Twenty minutes later, Musketeers and Guard had assembled on the Guard’s parade ground and duel partners were assigned. Neville Londubat, a young man who had come to Paris in order to become a Musketeer, was standing nearby, in charge of bandages and surrogate weapons. He glanced at them with admiration and a tiny bit of envy. Henri walked over to him.

“Neville!” He smiled.

“Henri.” Neville sounded a little strained. “I should probably be grateful that I’m even allowed to be here, but...” His voice sank to a whisper. “I’d love to be one of you. I’d love to prove myself in a duel with a member of the Guard.”

“I understand you so well!” It was a heartfelt confession. “You know, I envied every Musketeer that walked past me ever since the King’s musketeer guard was founded. All I wanted throughout my years at the lycée was to become one of them.” Henri gave Neville a reassuring smile. “Now I am. And you’ll soon be one of us as well. Just wait and see.”

“Thank you!” Neville smiled at him. “Watching you fence is certainly inspiring.”

“Oh, watching you fence is a delight as well.” Henri’s face split into a grin. “I’ll admit anytime that we underestimated you when we first met, but you’ve proven yourself when we got into that fight against the Guard. We certainly won’t make the same mistake again, and the promise to take you along on our next longer mission still stands!”

“Wonderful!” Neville’s smile turned into a grin as well, disappointment at his inability to participate in the fencing bout all but forgotten.

“Potier!” Bérard bellowed across the parade ground. “Get your butt over here for your first duel!”

Henri gave Neville an apologetic shrug and did as he was ordered. His eyes fell on Malcredi as he was walking to Bérard. The Italian was standing in the front row of the Cardinal’s musketeers, one hand draped lazily on the hilt of his sword and an assertive grin on his face.

 _I’m going to wipe that grin off your face,_ Henri thought grimly even though he didn’t know yet if he would face Malcredi during the fencing bout. When he had resumed his place, Bérard explained the proceedings of the duels.

“Alright, musketeers! You will face each other one on one for three minutes as measured by this hourglass.” Bérard gestured to a large hourglass an aide was holding. “The three minutes will start as soon as you hear the trumpet sound”—he gestured to a liveried musician next to the aide—“and they will end with the sound of another trumpet. Failure to stop your duel at the second bugle call will result in your disqualification and your opponent will win, so please save us all the trouble.” He gave Henri as stern look. Out of the corner of his eye, Henri saw Malcredi sneer. He scowled.

“The judges will be Monsieur de Bar, commander of the Guard, and me,” Bérard declared. “We will award points for hits and eventually declare a winner. This needs to be done unanimously; otherwise the duel will end in a tie.” Armandine nodded appreciatively as she heard Bérard’s plan.

“That is a very good concept to avoid one-sided bias on part of the judges,” she whispered, nudging Henri with her elbow. “Don’t you think so?” Henri nodded.

“Who wants to be the first to show their skill?” Bar droned. “Malcredi?”

“Yes, Sir. Always.” Malcredi stepped forward with a lazy stroll, annoyingly full of himself.

“And who—”

“Me, Sir!” Henri didn’t even wait for Bérard to finish his question.

“Well then, Potier,” Bérard said, frowning at the interruption. “Step forward and present arms.”

Henri walked over to Malcredi, raising his sword to a vertical position. His opponent mirrored his salute.

“Scared?” muttered Malcredi so that Bérard couldn’t hear him.

“You wish,” said Henri out of the corner of his mouth.

Then they saluted their two referees, taking three steps in opposing directions before they turned and resumed their positions.

“En garde!” Bérard called. They raised their swords.

“Ready?” he added. The trumpet sounded.

Go!” Bar yelled.

Malcredi advanced in a heartbeat, lighter and swifter than Henri. His movements were elegant and precise, like those of a dancer, only much faster. Henri couldn’t help but admire Malcredi’s grace as he aimed straight for his chest. Diving out of the way of his attack, Henri thrust his sword towards Malcredi’s armpit. Malcredi’s torso dipped back, just barely out of the way, before he advanced once more.

Their swords crossed, scraping against each other as Henri tried to push Malcredi’s weapon to the side. Malcredi stepped back, gathering enough space to lunge against Henri who had the presence of mind to raise his sword just in time to parry. Their weapons clashed, making the steel vibrate until Henri’s hand felt half numb.

This time it was Henri who stepped back, only to feign another attack just like the one Malcredi had aimed at his chest. As Malcredi raised his sword to parry, Henri twisted his hand, bringing his own weapon up so he could shove Malcredi’s out of the way in a circle parry, instantly flicking his sword towards Malcredi’s chest. It scraped Malcredi’s red cassock; an obvious hit.

“Halt!” Bérard shouted. The aide tilted the hourglass to the side, stopping the time.

“Point for Potier!” Bar announced.

Henri and Malcredi went to their original positions. This time it was Bérard who shouted the “Go” command, and the sand began to run again.

Emboldened by his hit, Henri lunged forward. But Malcredi was far from discouraged; if anything, he seemed even more determined to win. He stepped towards Henri, parrying the lunge dangerously close to his chest. For a moment, their eyes met. Malcredi’s were grey like troubled storm clouds.

Eyes furrowed in determination, Malcredi danced out of the way of Henri’s blade. Turning on Henri in a counter attack, Malcredi thrust his sword towards Henri’s arm. His sleeve ripped.

“Halt!” It was Bar’s voice. The aide stopped the time again.

“Point for Malcredi!” called Bérard.

The next round started with the familiar commands. Henri tried to attack first but Malcredi was faster, forcing him to parry so close to his body Henri almost scraped his clothing with his own sword. Malcredi’s pale lips were pressed to a tight line, all focused elegance. Henri briefly wondered what he looked like himself, ripped sleeve and unruly hair under his plumed hat.

The musing cost him the opportunity for a riposte, an attack of his own. Instead, Malcredi renewed his attack, lunging at Henri’s thigh. Henri needed to make an awkward side dance to step out of the way of his sword.

“You are inattentive,” Malcredi hissed. “That will be your undoing.” He twisted the angle of his sword, beating it hard against Henri’s, and pushed his own weapon towards Henri’s chest.

Henri bent his body back, just barely out of Malcredi’s reach, and thrust his own sword towards Malcredi in an inelegant movement. It struck a little above his hip, harder than Henri had intended. Malcredi made a pained groan, pressing his free hand over his side.

“Halt!” droned Bar, and their time was halted as well. “Point for Potier!”

“Londubat!” Bérard yelled. “To me with the bandages!” He helped Malcredi expose his wounded side, the blood that tickled from a gash in his side a stark contrast against his almost translucent skin. Henri had no idea how any Italian could be this pale.

Bérard cleaned Malcredi’s wound with alcohol from the flask at his belt before Neville even reached them. When he had arrived, Malcredi snatched the bandage from his hands, applying it without the help of others. Then he tucked his now stained white shirt back in his culottes.

“On we go!” he snarled before anyone could so much as suggest abandoning the duel. His scowl deepened.

Henri had no opportunity to tell him he hadn’t meant to draw blood before Bar had reached the “Go!” command. Malcredi lunged at him instantly. Henri parried this thrust, wasting no time on thinking before he started his counter attack. Malcredi danced out of the way, holding Henri at bay with his extended sword.

They exchanged a series of elaborate attacks, parries and counter attacks before the trumpet sounded one last time for them. They stopped immediately, neither wanting to risk disqualification. Bérard raised Henri’s arm, announcing him the winner. Malcredi shook Henri’s hand, but when he retreated, he was glaring daggers towards his opponent.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

“Let’s go out for a drink with Londubat!” Henri suggested, draping his arms across Armandine and Reynault’s shoulders.

“Not really in the mood for it,” Reynault grumbled. He was the only one of them who hadn’t won his duel against a member of the Guard.

“All the more reason to take your mind off things!” Armandine chimed in with Henri. “Don’t you think so, Neville?”

“Oh, I think a glass of wine would be lovely now!” Neville smiled.

“Then it’s all settled!” Henri decided. “Let’s go to—” But before he could make a suggestion, Olivier du Bois appeared, a senior Musketeer who had been a few years above Henri at Poudlard.

“Sorry to interrupt,” du Bois said. “I know you all deserve your evening off, but Bérard needs you for a secret mission, Henri.”

“Sacre Dieu!” Henri cussed. “Can’t he send someone else?”

“I’m afraid it’s not in my power to alter my orders.” Du Bois pulled a face. “I’m just the messenger. You need to come with me now.”

“Alright, guys, have a nice evening!” Henri sighed. “Seems like mine will be a little longer.”

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Bérard’s secret order turned out to be an errand: Henri needed to transport a letter from the King to the Cardinal’s palace where he was to wait for the Cardinal’s reply. The mission was simple enough, but the King seemed to have requested specifically the Musketeer who had uncovered the Italian conspiracy as a trusted envoy.

Henri sighed as he saddled his grey horse. The conspiracy had assured that his name was known to the King, but to what avail? Promotion still seemed out of reach, and riding straight to the Cardinal’s palace where he might meet Malcredi again wasn’t exactly his idea of a nice evening.

The guard at the palace gates let him in when they saw the King’s seal on the envelope Henri was carrying. They held his horse for him, and he reached the entrance to the Cardinal’s palace unhindered. That was when a familiar pale figure walked out of the portal, saw him and stopped in his tracks.

“Potier.” It sounded surprised rather than annoyed.

“Malcredi.” Henri’s voice was guarded.

“What are you doing here?” It was a professional inquiry, not an accusation.

“My King sent me here to deliver His letter to His Eminence and wait for His reply,” Henri said dutifully. He held the letter towards Malcredi who stared at it, blinked and turned towards the portal.

“Gouille!” Malcredi bellowed. Mere seconds later, a gorilla-like man with dull eyes appeared, unmistakably Malcredi’s lackey from their school days, Grégoire Gouille.

“Letter from His Majesty,” Malcredi ordered, snatching it out of Henri’s hands and thrusting it into Gouille’s paws. “To the Cardinal. Now.” Gouille nodded. As he was about to trod off, Malcredi added swiftly: “Find us at the stairs to the garden. That’s where you need to bring His Eminence’s reply.” Gouille nodded once again and disappeared inside the palace.

“At the stairs to the garden?” Henri raised an eyebrow. “You’re not going to challenge me to a return duel, are you?”

“I just have a few things that need to be said,” Malcredi said in a clipped tone. “Preferably without other people listening in on us.” He wasted no time and stalked off. Henri shrugged and followed him.

Malcredi leaned against the stone banister of the stares he had indicated to Gouille, covertly pressing his left hand against his side where Henri had hurt him. Henri noticed it at once.

“I’m sorry,” he said, flopping down on the stairs. “I didn’t mean to...”

“No,” Malcredi cut him off. “This is not what I want to talk about.”

“So what do you want to talk about?” Henri looked up to him.

“Sacre Dieu, this isn’t going to work with you crouched down on the stairs!” Malcredi swore. He sat next to Henri, lowering his body carefully. The pressure the process of sitting down applied to his side made him hiss in spite of all his caution.

“You sure you’re alright?” Henri cast him a worried glance, reaching out to touch Malcredi’s side.

“Don’t you _dare.”_ Malcredi swatted his hand away.

“Yeah,” muttered Henri. “Sorry.”

“Sacre Dieu, Henri, can you please stop saying sorry?” Malcredi groaned in annoyance. “If anything, _I_ should apologise to _you.”_

“What?” Henri stared at him, dumbfounded.

“For ... you know. Being mean to country noblemen. Not being decisive enough when my father dragged me into the conspiracy. Almost getting you killed. You rescuing my life twice on one day.” Malcredi’s voice was quiet. “Whatever. You choose.”

Henri stared at him. He hadn’t expected this, and now he didn’t know what to say. Malcredi used Henri’s silence to continue.

“I also wanted to say...” His throat worked until he was able to get it out. “Thank you,” he managed at last. “For testifying in favour of my family.”

“I only said the truth,” Henri replied. “You still switched sides at the right moment. If it wasn’t for your mother, the whole thing could have ended badly. So of course I testified for you.”

“You’re a honourable man,” Malcredi said. “I don’t know if I would have had the magnanimity...”

“Oh, shut it!” Henri grumbled. “Magnanimity. I just did what was right.”

“Yes.” Malcredi gave him a crooked smile. “Yes, I know. You’re stubborn and righteous and you do things because you believe they need to be done rather than for any personal gain. It’s dumb, really.” He took a deep breath. “But I think highly of you because of that.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Henri felt dumbfounded; stunned Malcredi had gone out of his way just to apologise and to thank him.

“It was a debt I needed to settle.” Malcredi rose from the stairs, pulling himself up at the banister. “Sacre Dieu,” he cussed once again. “That shallow cut hurts worse than many a severe wound.”

“A debt?” Henri echoed. He didn’t want to let him go just like that.

“Something I needed to tell you so I can move on from here,” Malcredi explained. “I want to leave my past behind and make a name for myself with the Guard. I’m sure you aim for the same thing with the Musketeers. That makes us rivals, albeit indirect ones.” His grey eyes pierced into Henri’s green ones. “I want to be competitive. What I don’t want is feel as if I wasn’t worthy of promotion.”

“Oh, I think you are worthy.” Henri stood, much more effortlessly than Malcredi. He extended his hand. “May we be rivals. And may we give our missions our all.”

“Yes.” Malcredi clasped his hand in both of his own. “May we give this life our all.”

**Author's Note:**

> Gifted to [sorb_aucup](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sorb_aucup) because she told me to write this when I just meant to joke around about a misspelling of Draco’s name. xD (My thought process was something like “‘Drago’ is the Italian word for ‘dragon’. Italians were always mistrusted and suspected to be spies in early modern France.” And then I drifted off to _The Three Musketeers.)_
> 
> The title of this fic is a pun on the title of the Blackmore’s Night instrumental “Mr Peagram’s Morris and Sword”.
> 
> “Poudlard” is the name of Hogwarts in the French translations of the _Harry Potter_ books. I also took “Londubat” as Neville’s surname from the official French translations but I came up with the rest of the translated names by myself. Ramper is Kreacher; Olivier du Bois is Oliver Wood; Grégoire Gouille is Gregory Goyle. “Malfoy” would be translated more literally to “Malafede” in Italian but there’s a character called Belcredi in _Uniform Justice_ (2003), one of the novels of Donna Leon’s Commissario Guido Brunetti book series, and … I just swapped “bel” = “good” for “male” = “bad/pain” and cut off the “e”. xD)
> 
> The two lines “Scared”—“You wish” are, of course, quotations from _Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets._ I just changed the names for the purpose of this story.
> 
> ——————————
> 
> My soul feeds on the comments of people who read my stories. Yes, that includes concrit. No, it doesn’t include bashing. That’s what my spite feeds on.


End file.
